


Breathe For Me

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Red Dust [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 13:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18181325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: In space, no once can hear your dumb decisions. Such as giving up some oxygen for a friend, lying to the medical guys, and getting caught snuggling before dinner.





	Breathe For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this one came from, but I promise nobody dies in it. There's angst but it's actually pretty fluffy at the end.

Patrice thinks - what does he know about everybody?

Tuukka is that scary Finnish scientist who’s smarter and more perceptive than everyone, and sometimes people joke that if you get too close to his work he'll knife you for good measure.

Zdeno, on the other hand, is like everyone's dad - between running his experiments and documenting things, the too-tall Slovakian is always checking in, making sure everyone's mentally sound and otherwise capable. He's their de facto leader.

There are three Davids, because apparently the administrative staff like to confuse their astronauts. Backes and Krejci are both medical people, Pastrnak is a tech worker. All are nice guys.

Bruce is their pencil-pusher, getting them to follow procedures and turn in reports on time and all that stuff. He never leaves the complex to do field work, but he's still competent and respectable.

And then there's him and Brad, the two field technicians. Everyone except Bruce goes out every so often, but Brad and Patrice are designated for this work (mainly because they're better at it than anyone else). Brad is a goof-off and generally ridiculous person off-shift, but takes his job very seriously most of the time and usually gets good results. As for Patrice himself… he's been told, often and by many people, that he's skilled and thorough.

As they drive back across the red dust, he runs this through his mind over and over and over again. This exercise is a simple one, which they were all forced to practice before getting sent here. It makes sure your brain is working right, responding quickly, so that you know if you're up on your vitamins and nutrients and not succumbing to the environment’s monotony… and that you don't have hypoxia setting in, in this case.

It was a simple field job. Go to the oxygen garden. One of the sensors may not be working correctly. If it looks different from how it should, report it to Pasta so he can go fix it.

Except Brad couldn't find one of his socks before they went out, so he put on his boot without it. Commenting on it the whole drive with the ATV, when he stepped off he'd been shaking his foot around to demonstrate his point… which led him to trip. It took so long… too long… to wind adhesive tape around the hole in his leg.

They didn't even go to the oxygen garden, because it would waste too much time and too much air. Brad is tethered to Patrice with one of the emergency lines for situations like this. They have approximately five minutes left to breathe. It will take twelve to reach the main compound.

“Breathe slowly,” Patrice warns him every so often. “We're going to be fine.” It's such a lie, but the timer is in his helmet, so Brad doesn't know that.

“How much is left?”

Notes of panic are still finding their way into his colleague’s tone, no matter how hard Brad tries to keep himself calm and immobile.

“Enough. It's okay, just try not to talk.”

Patrice is amazed at how calm and soothing he's making himself sound. He's not sure how he's managing it. Once the main supply of air is depleted, there's an emergency tank on the ATV. That leaves four minutes unaccounted for, where they'll be breathing in their own carbon dioxide and nitrogen, more if Brad realizes what's going on and loses it.

As each minute ticks by, an alert beeps next to his right ear. Patrice doesn't think Brad can hear it, but then the air supply hits two minutes and the alarm buzzer goes off. It’s too loud to hide and everyone, _everyone_ , who gets sent here knows what it means. Brad’s already went off just after they turned around to head back, so there’s no lying about it, either.

Brad immediately whips his head around to look at Patrice, fear stamped all over his face. He’d said something about this once… that coming up and returning on the shuttles never scared him, living in the complex was no problem. If they found aliens, whatever, cool. But to be stranded, unable to breathe… it terrified him. It always came back to him as quiet “what if” thoughts when he was trying to go to sleep. Brad never seems scared of anything, because most of the time, he isn’t. But that one whispered confession rings louder than any warning noises through Patrice’s ears now, because his best friend’s worst fear is being realized at this very second.

He shouldn't waste breath by talking. It’s not like he has any other choice.

“Brad, okay, look at me, there’s an emergency tank right behind you. Okay? When mine goes dry, we’ll just plug into it and we’ll get back there in time. Okay? It’s going to be okay. You’re not going to suffocate, no, Brad, _look at me_. You’re not going to suffocate, I won’t let that happen. You’ll be okay.” Patrice takes one palm off the controls and grabs his colleague’s hand. “Squeeze as hard as you can. However much you're scared right now, squeeze that hard, okay?”

Brad’s fingers constrict around his through their gloves and Patrice clenches his fist back just as firmly. Every fifteen seconds, his suit’s sensors audibly remind him how much air is left. Patrice hates safety protocols right now, because the tools to analyze sensors and whatever in the oxygen garden are in an outbuilding. If they hadn't stopped at that outbuilding, this wouldn't have happened. Tools are always nearby, but never directly on-site. That way, if structural integrity gets breached, the equipment is safe. So, great. The tools are safe but in three minutes and forty five seconds Patrice and Brad will start to be poisoned by their own breaths. Emergency oxygen tanks on the ATVs are designed to give six minutes of normal respiration to one person. For two people, it’ll be three or less.

When his air supply expires, Patrice tells Brad to close his eyes and hold his breath. Then, he connects the line from the emergency tank to Brad’s damaged suit… and disconnects himself entirely. It's only seven minutes… he can make it for seven minutes. Brad really needs it. Patrice can go without for seven minutes if he breathes as slowly as possible.

He keeps holding Brad’s hand while he drives, thinking… what does he know about everyone?

Four minutes to the compound. His eyes and throat are starting to burn.

Three minutes to the compound. Patrice feels like he's been underwater in a pool for too long and has to surface, but he can't.

Two minutes to the compound. He's starting to gasp inside his helmet, no matter how hard he tries not to.

One minute to the compound. Patrice’s eyes won't stay open, his head is fuzzy.

They make it to the main complex. He tries to climb from the ATV but just drops off the side and can't get up.

Patrice floats. There's buzzing, all around him, undefined noise. He thinks of Brad, how on the trip up here his new colleague made jokes about everything and was annoying to all the other astronauts. Patrice never found him annoying. He thought Brad was a little strange, but also funny. They had to work together anyway, because they were both field techs, and while everyone else was struggling just to get used to Brad, Patrice was already getting to be good friends with him. They're in the same bunk bed, and Brad claimed the top one. They hang around each other off-shift and speculate about how the Bruins are doing this season while they're up here. They make plans for what they'll do when they're back on earth - beer, expensive restaurants, sleeping on actual beds. After a little while, they'd even reached the conclusion: _we should keep hanging out once we're back home. We'll have that beer and go to those restaurants together._

Patrice wakes staring up at Krej, and immediately asks: “How long until I can have steak again?”

Krej just laughs: “Welcome back, Pat.” The doctor gives him a run-down of his acute hypoxia. Patrice waits for him to ask why this happened, but he doesn’t. “Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared us, man.”

“Sorry. I won't.” It's such a lie. Patrice knows he'd do it again for Brad without even thinking about it. Brad needed it more. “Krej,” he asks as the doctor looks like he's going to get up and leave, “how's Brad? Is he okay?”

An eyebrow goes up. “Physically, yes.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Later. He's resting, and you should be, too.”

Patrice is fed some mineral paste and jokingly told to pretend it's a steak, then he does as he's told and sleeps for awhile. When he wakes up again his right hand is in a slimy vice, cutting off blood flow to his fingertips… oh. Never mind, it's just Brad holding his hand way too tight.

Brad yanks him halfway off the medical cot into a hug that ironically crushes the breath from his lungs, then grabs him by his shoulders and shakes him repeatedly: “You fucking idiot! What the fuck did you have to do that for, Pat?! You could've died!”

“I wanted you to be okay,” Patrice answers honestly. “You were so scared, I just wanted you to be okay again.”

“I can't be okay if you're not,” Brad blurts out, looking like he regrets saying that before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. He closes his eyes and snorts in through his nose. “They're going to evaluate me today… if I don't pass, I’ll have to get evacuated for mental instability.”

Brad’s shaking a little, and Patrice realizes he's doing everything he can not to start crying. There's residual terror from oxygen starvation, but despite yesterday's catastrophe Brad doesn't want to leave before his term is up. The training for this was so long and so hard, nobody here would ever give it up before it was time to go home according to the schedule.

“Hey… look at me, Brad.” He waits for it to happen. “It's going to be okay.”

“Yeah, that's what you said last time…”

“And I was right,” he points out. “We made it back. We're both still alive.” Patrice frowns. “Did you find your sock?”

“You're fucking unbelievable,” Brad snorts, seeming a little more like his normal self when he does. “You almost choked to death on your own breath and you're worried about my fucking laundry?”

“I'm worried about you,” Patrice shrugs. “What happened yesterday would fuck anyone up.”

Brad shakes his head a little. “I want to be okay… I think I can be okay, even after that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Brad nods as he says it. “I've got you to breathe for me.”

They talk about stupid things for a little while after that, then Brad leaves to go for his evaluation. Patrice is cleared to leave medical and start working again tomorrow, so he goes back to his bunk and prays to whoever or whatever might be listening that Brad will be alright.

His friend comes back with a huge grin: “I passed, Krej said I can stay!”

Patrice is dragged in for an embrace the way a bear pulls someone in to kill them - Brad gives the best hugs. He's genuinely happy that his colleague will get to remain at the complex, but… in the back of his mind, Patrice can't help wondering if Brad lied during his eval. He knows he'd probably do the same thing if his career was on the line like that.

As it turns out, Patrice's gut was right. They're both cleared to return to field work and at the beginning of the next week they have to repair one of the rovers that got stuck on something and broke its track. He does up his coveralls and reaches for his suit - then notices Brad’s hands trembling as he fastens his own Velcro straps.

“Brad, are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” comes the expected and obvious lie.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

Patrice pulls on his suit, but before he goes for the gloves and helmet he picks up Brad’s and holds it out. “Here, I’ll help you check everything. We'll make sure it all checks out before we go, like during training.” Brad doesn't say a word (which is almost unheard of for him) as Patrice goes through the whole process of inspecting the suit, verbally confirming each step as they do it. He makes sure Brad can feel all the joints locking into place and sealing. He makes sure he jostles Brad a little as he goes over the air supply pack, so that Brad knows he's doing it. He makes sure Brad feels safe and confident in the suit’s capabilities before handing over the helmet. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Pat.” Brad looks embarrassed, now, but a lot less terrified.

They pull on their thermal hoods and snap the helmets into place, then Brad picks up the toolbox and they head for the airlock. At least with rover repairs it's one-stop-shopping, because they bring the equipment with them and won't have to go to an outbuilding and all that crap.

As the airlock opens and they step out onto the dirt, Patrice glances over to make sure Brad's okay and is fairly satisfied with what he sees. They check the ATV - its power cell is charged and the backup oxygen is full. The toolbox is stowed and they take off.

“So the first thing I did when I came to was ask Krej for a steak,” Patrice tells his friend over the comm.

“Oh yeah? What'd he have to say about that?”

“He just laughed at me. I could really go for a steak, though… eight more months. Then we can have steaks and catch up on two seasons of hockey scores.”

“And real baths,” Brad puts in.

“And not having to listen to Pasta and Backes snoring,” Patrice groans.

“And beer.”

“And music that's not just whatever Krej has on his iPod.”

“And sex.”

Patrice laughs. “Yeah, they don't mention that in the pre-launch briefing, huh? How you can't get laid for the two years you're up here…”

“If we really wanted to, we could probably talk someone into it… I could, anyway. I'm at least a a twelve. You, though, I'm not too sure about…”

“Brad.”

“What?”

“I will _always_ be better-looking than you. You're also shorter than everyone else in the complex.”

“Yeah, but I'm funnier. That automatically makes me more attractive.”

Patrice snorts and rolls his eyes, trying desperately hard not to laugh because it'll just prove his friend’s stupid, stupid point. “Whatever you say, man.”

They bicker back and forth about this for a little bit, which is good because it keeps Brad distracted from his fears. They make it to the rover with 65% of their air supplies left, and it's more than enough to fix a busted track and head home. Patrice holds everything in place while Brad works his magic with the tools; normally Pasta would get sent for this kind of job, but he's still working on the malfunctioning sensor in the oxygen garden.

When they've sent the rover on its way again and packed in their tools to head back, Patrice can't help thinking about what would happen if Brad does have to get evacuated. Their complex isn't supplied directly, so Backes would probably escort Brad to the Russian compound thirty miles away in one of the multi-personnel carriers. Brad would be sent to earth in one of the Soyuz shuttles and almost certainly never be allowed back here again. Patrice doesn't want that for him.

Driving back, Brad stays quiet, which is a little worrying. Patrice doesn't ask if he's okay (Brad will just lie again) and instead reaches over to hold his hand. Even through a bulky space suit, Brad visibly relaxes, and that makes Patrice feel better, too. It's not a complete fix, though. As soon as they're decontaminated and through the airlock, Brad starts yanking his suit off so fast Patrice is worried he'll tear it to pieces. With adequate lighting and no helmet visors in the way, he can see now how badly his friend is sweating. Brad frees himself from the suit and yanks down the zipper of his coveralls, then sits against the wall, rubbing his face and breathing much too hard. It's terrible how relieved he looks to just not be wearing his suit anymore.

Patrice tosses his gloves aside, not bothering to finish doffing his suit, and crouches in front of his friend. “Brad, calm down,” he insists, putting both hands on his colleague’s shoulders and squeezing. “You're fine. Nothing happened, we went there and completed a job. Everything's fine.”

“I know.” Brad's voice, already a shaky whisper, is muffled by his palms. “Something could've happened… next time something could happen…”

“Last time is the only time anything happened,” Patrice answers in his gentlest, most soothing tone. “Usually, nothing happens. It was just that one time, and we're both still here. Pasta fixed up your suit, remember? He always does a good job, so you've got nothing to worry about. Alright, let's go report in to Bruce.”

Patrice does most of Brad's paperwork for him, then they turn it all in and head for the quarters. It's a tiny, cramped space, with absolutely no privacy - most of the time. Right now everyone else is off doing other things so it's just the two of them. Patrice pulls Brad after him onto his bunk, because he's going to forcibly cuddle all the fear out of his friend.

Their foreheads rest together and even knowing they'll get too hot Patrice pulls up the blanket. “I'm not going to tell you you shouldn't have lied on your eval, because I probably would've, too,” he starts. He keeps his tone gentle and caring. “But they do those for a reason. If you're mentally unsound, that can put me in danger when we're out there, it'll put you in danger. It puts everyone in danger.”

“I know,” Brad whimpers, closing his eyes. “I'm sorry, Pat… I’ll try to be better…”

“Talk to me about this. What did you think would happen?”

“I thought… at first, I was scared the patch would rip back open on my leg. I know you'd just fix everything again like last time, but… but then you'd suffocate yourself again. I know you'd do it, Pat, so don't say you wouldn't. After last week I really get how far you'd go to save my stupid ass out there…”

“Yeah,” Patrice murmurs in agreement, remembering what Brad said when he woke up in medical. “I’ll breathe for you.”

“I kinda wish you didn't do that, though. It would've been four minutes, and I would've been fucking scared shitless, but… you wouldnt’ve gone without, and… fuck, Patrtice, don't ever fucking do that again. I'm serious.”

“Krej said the same thing.”

“Yeah, well, he's fucking right,” Brad snaps. “Eight minutes without oxygen is guaranteed brain damage. You're fucking lucky this didn't turn out worse for you. Don't ever. Do that. Again. I'm fucking serious.”

“I know you are,” Patrice answers. “So am I. If I have to, I’ll do it again. I couldn't just let you suffer like that…”

“You almost died of hypoxia.”

“Yeah, I'm aware of that. That's not the point.”

“Me being scared isn't a good reason for you to almost kill yourself!” Brad yells. Their faces are two inches apart, so the noise is painful. “How do you think I'd feel if you did die from that?! Huh?”

“But I didn't,” Patrice reminds him calmly. “We're both still here. I'm sorry I scared you, Brad. But I'm not sorry that I did it. I’ll do it again if I have to.”

Brad shakes his head. “You're fucking unbelievable.”

“I don't care. I just wanted you to be okay, and for the most part, you are. We can't go back and change any of it, so you should stop thinking about it. Everything turned out okay.”

Brad shuffles closer and presses his face into Patrice's neck. “Don't make me lose you.”

“I would never,” Patrice promises, running his fingers through his friend’s dark hair.

Even though it's the middle of the day, they both fall asleep like this. A couple hours later Patrice wakes up and Brad is still there, snuggled right up to him and napping peacefully. It's actually kind of cute.

“You need me to get up?” Brad mumbles, surprising him. Patrice thought his friend was asleep.

“Not for a few more minutes. Dinner is soon, that's all.”

“Okay…”

Brad shuffles a little until his head is tucked under Patrice's chin and they just stay like that for awhile. When they do finally get up for the nutrient paste and bland vitamin water that is their meals, everyone starts snickering at them as they enter the tiny cafeteria.

“Have a nice nap, guys?” Pasta grins.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Patrice starts to say.

“Nice try, we've got documented evidence,” Tuukka snorts, pulling out a photo that seems to have been printed off an iPad.

“So what was all this snuggling for?” Pasta asks.

“To give everyone something to talk about besides lab reports,” Brad answers before Patrice can even open his mouth.

“Well, it worked. You're a cute couple by the way,” Pasta laughs.

Patrice rolls his eyes and says nothing, just going for his “food” and listening to Brad and Pasta chirp back and forth. He thinks that cuddling Brad was actually pretty nice, despite the limited space afforded to each bunk. He got to wake up with someone he really likes wrapped around him; Patrice can't even remember the last time that happened back on earth. Okay, so… that's why he pulled that dumbass stunt and almost asphyxiated. Turns out Patrice likes Brad a lot more than he realized. Immediately he wonders if it's just a side-effect, having been working and living with this guy for almost sixteen straight months now. But nobody else seems to be having this happen to them… they're not cuddling each other off to sleep and spending more time with one person than anyone else.

Patrice decides he's going to talk to Brad about this after dinner. Then he remembers movies he saw as a kid, how people are always about to do something and then the plot shows up so that their lives go catastrophically wrong, and they don't get to do the thing they said they would do.

It doesn't happen. Patrice gets Brad alone again when they're done eating. Finding a secluded area of the complex is almost impossible, so since there's no missions about to happen they go sit by the airlock.

“Why do you look so nervous, Pat? You're not going to tell Bruce about today, are you?”

“No, of course not. I'd never do that to you.” Patrice takes a deep breath. “Brad, I… you're a good astronaut and you're a good worker. But that's got nothing to do with what I'm about to say, okay? You're also a smart guy, and you're really funny, and… I know sometimes you make jokes about how you look, but I don't-I don't think that you're strange looking. So I was just thinking that, when we get back to earth in eight months and go checking out those restaurants you were talking about, if… if it's not going to be us going as friends. If it can be us going on a date instead.”

Brad stares at him and couldn't look more shocked if he tried. Patrice's stomach is starting to twist into a knot when Brad finally just says, “Really?”

Patrice nods, a little too quickly. “Yeah, really. I just-I just like you a lot, that's all.”

He's nervous, like a middle school kid holding someone's hand for the first time. The two of them are so different from each other, but they made friends almost immediately and until just recently were a great team in the field. He wants to go on dates with Brad when they get back to earth, not just going places but staying in sometimes on the couch with a movie if it's too rainy to leave the apartment…

Brad conjures up an enormous smile. “Yeah, absolutely! You can go on as many dates with me as you want, Pat.”

Patrice can't help laughing a little, relieved. They meet in a long embrace, not saying anything but not needing to, just feeling each other. Brad kisses where his neck meets his jaw and Patrice squeezes a little tighter with his arms. They can't help grinning at each other like complete idiots, and it takes less than twenty minutes for Pasta to figure it out (because of course it's Pasta, it's always Pasta) and tell everyone. They don't care and nobody else seems to, either.

Life goes on like normal in the complex. Going out on field jobs, Patrice and Brad still hold hands. But now, it's not because Brad gets scared anymore. They just do it because they like it (and because it's impossible to kiss while wearing a space suit). Patrice will always be there to breathe for him if he needs it.

**Author's Note:**

> My laptop died. Now I get to write and post stories from my iPad. Ugh.
> 
> Very, VERY loosely inspired by the series "Aurora Australis" (https://archiveofourown.org/series/607414), which is these two as workers in an Antarctic research station. It's unique and very cute, so I highly recommend it.
> 
> Kudos are nice but they're also a little bit of a cop-out. Please comment.


End file.
